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GLEANINGS 



JAMES K. LOMBARD 



/H^J-'X 



NEW YORK 
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

27 & 29 WEST 23D STREET 
1882 



7r 






Copyright by 
JAMES K. LOMBARD 

1882 



Press 0/ 

G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York 



TO 

MY PARISHIONERS 
OF ST. PAUL'S, FAIRFIELD, CONN, 

THIS COLLECTION OF GLEANINGS 

PUBLISHED AT THEIR REQUEST 

IS AFFECTIONATELY 

INSCRIBED 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

The Voice i 

To-Day 4 

Translated 6 

Easter Hymn 9 

To a Friend ii 

Behind and Beyond 13 

To Rev. and Mrs. G. S. B 15 

The Old Family Cradle 17 

Not as Though I Had Already Attained . . 20 

The River of Life 22 

E. H. G 24 

The Two Pictures 26 

Lent, not Lost 29 

The Lord is in His Holy Temple . . . 31 
The Teacher to the Reformer . . . -33 

Among the Spindles 36 

Lines from Phi Beta Kappa Poem . . -39 

Lines Read Before Alumni of High School . 43 



GLEANINGS. 



THE VOICE. 

"Write ! " said the Voice, "all the truths of thy 
vision, 

That which is coming, and that which hath been ;" 
" Nay," said the seer, " the meaning is hidden, 

How shall sense fathom what spirit hath seen ? " 
" The spirit gives life, though the letter destroys ; 
Silence were sinful ; — write ! " said the Voice. 

" Speak ! " said the Voice, " if the word hath come 
to thee. 
Go thou to Nineveh, utter thy cry ;" 
" Nay," said the prophet, " the message were fruit- 
less. 
Who will regard such a babbler as I ? " 
" He who hath called thee His chosen employs ; 
Silence were fatal ; — speak ! " said the Voice. 



« Sing ! " said the Voice, " if the harmonies in thee 
Leap to thy lips and thrill on thy lyre ;" 

"Nay," said the singer, "'twere needless presum- 
ing; 
What is one strain in the many- voiced choir ? " 

" If it be given thee, venture no choice ; 

Silence were thankless ; — sing ! " said the Voice. 

" Shine ! " said the Voice ; " let the light that is 
burning 

Buried within thee, illumine the way ;" 
*' Nay," said the Christian, "the light is uncertain. 

What if it lead my weak brother astray ? " 
" Herald the dawning and earth shall rejoice ; 
Darkness is danger ; — shine ! " said the Voice. 

"Work ! " said the Voice, "the day is swift passing, 
Soon shall the sounds of all labor be still ;" 

" Nay," said the toiler, "my hands are aweary, 
And vain is the striving my tasks to fulfil." 

" Not the fainthearted the harvest enjoys ; 

Rest is inglorious ; — work ! " said the Voice. 

" Wait ! " said the Voice, " if the mists thicken 
round thee, 
Hiding the stars, and obscuring the way ;" 



'' Nay," said the traveller, " home is far distant, 

And dangers fast gather to threaten delay." 
" Yet Wisdom detains thee, nor vainly annoys ; 
Blind is impatience ; — wait ! " said the Voice. 

" Hope ! " said the Voice, " though the present be 
dreary. 

Beauty and glory and peace are beyond ;" 
" Nay," said the doubter, " I trust not the promise. 

Fools may be hopeful, the wise must despond." 
" Yet soon the great scales shall recover their poise ; 
Doubt is impiety ; — hope ! " said the Voice. 

List to the Voice that comes echoed from Eden, 
Whispering soft, or in thunderous roll ; 

Say it not nay in thy proud self- distrusting, 
Welcome the message that wakens thy soul. 

What if brief failure thy triumph alloys. 

Faithful thy service, — " Well done ! " saith the 
Voice. 



TO-D A V. 

Fair bark, with the wealth of the Orient freighted ; 
Fair tree, with the fruitage of Paradise weighted ; 
Blest moment, whose gift is so light estimated. 

The white-sanded beaches are grooved by the prow ; 
An infant's hand reaches the low-drooping bough ; 
Occasion beseeches, " Wake ! never, or now ! " 

The vessel, white-winged, but a breath is delaying ; 

The over-ripe fruit is already decaying ; 

The pitiless moment, while fleeting, is saying : 

" Fair bark, speed thy course to a friendlier shore ; 
Fair tree, waste no longer thy nectarine store ; 
Fond mortal, occasion may greet thee no more." 

Bright dawn, we await, of the unknown to-morrow, 
Whose ray shall disperse the dread phantoms of 

sorrow, 
Whose splendor the fancy in visions would borrow, 



Come, break with thy first crimson flush o'er the sea ; 
Bid error's night-brood in discomfiture flee ; 
Unveil to our senses the glory to be. 

Vain, vain is the dream of a happier morning 

For him whose dull eye greets the present with 

scorning, 
Disdaining in madness its wealth and its warning ! 

To-morrow for mortals shall never arise ; 
God's secret is hidden from curious eyes ; 
To-Day is eternity's boon to the Avise. 



TRANSLATED. 

What dreams has our baby, with gaze so far reach- 
ing? 

What thoughts does she think that are not of our 
teaching ? 

How soon will she solve the strange problem of be- 
ing? 

What sights does she see, that are not for our seeing ? 

Are the things of our earth all too dull for her 
vision ? 

Does she catch far off glimpses of glories Elysian ? 

Our eyes are too dim to behold the immortals ; 

But she — does she look through the glistening por- 
tals ? 

Are there arms reaching out to her, gentler and 
kinder ? 

Will she learn to forget those that here have en- 
twined her ? 

What light in the depth of her blue eyes is shining ? 

Read her soul for me, you who are skilled in divin- 
ing. 

6 



Call her name ; she will turn, so reluctantly, slowly, 
Unwilling to lose some bright spectacle wholly. 
Her secret is hers, but the angels share with her ; 
Can it be that they beckon her ? whither ? ah ! 
whither ? 

It is years since the gates to our view opened wider. 
Gave us glimpses within, and then closed but to 

hide her ; 
Yet our questioning hearts thither fondly pursue her, 
And ask : " Shall we know her again, as we knew 

her? 

What form wears our babe in the gardens all vernal ? 
What light crowns her forehead with beauty eternal ? 
The simple white dress, not more pure than the 

wearer. 
Is it changed for a garment still whiter and fairer ? 

The feet that knew naught of earth's soiling and 
miring, 

Do they tread the safe ways without straying or 
tiring ? 

The lips that could frame a few sentences broken. 

Do they breathe the Great Name, that by us is un- 
spoken ? 



The ear that was charmed by sweet earthly attun- 
ings, 

Does it hear the new song and the seraphs' com- 
munings ? 

The eyes, filled with awe at some fond childish story, 

Do they look far away, on the King in His glory ? 

The palms that were crossed ere they took up life's 
burden, 

Are they filled with white buds in the heavenly gar- 
den ? " 

She has left us sweet dreams and vain questionings 

only; 
And we, who abide in the body, are lonely. 



HYMN 

FOR THE FESTIVAL OF ST. PAULS 

SUNDA Y- SCHOOL, 

EASTER, 1877. 

Sing we now the task laborious, 
Wondrous work of mercy done ! 

Sing the Conqueror victorious 
Who eternal fame hath won ! 

God to crown the triumph glorious 
Gives the kingdom to His Son. 

Sing that Easter morning olden, 
Freshest dawn and fairest skies ; 

Light of hope and promise golden, 
Vision blest to longing eyes ; 

Christ of death no longer holden, 
Risen that we with Him may rise. 



Bring we each our choicest treasure 
Some memorial meet to raise, 

Which shall speak our lofty pleasure 
And our great Deliverer's praise, 

Showing forth His love's vast measure 
Unto everlasting days. 

Toil with patient circumspection, 
Watchful care, and holy might, 

In the house of God's erection, 
Each to build himself aright ; 

Trophy of the resurrection, 
Polished column fair to sight. 

Build we on the strong foundation, 
Christ the tried and precious stone. 

Till the sacred habitation, 
To a pillared Temple grown, 

House of prayer for every nation. 
Shines on Zion's mount alone. 



10 



TO A FRIEND. 

ON HER SEVENTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY, 
DECEMBER 8, 1879. 

Threescore-and-eighteen ! nay, 't is little avail 
To prove by the book so unlikely a tale ; 
" The Bible ! " Apocrypha, rather, you mean, 
Pious fraud smuggled slyly the covers between. 
Hark to sense, Father Time ! make the estimate lower, 
We '11 grant the eighteen if you '11 throw off the 
threescore. 

Dear Friend, in that fount erst by minstrelsy sung 
Have you bathed, to keep body and spirit so young ? 
Straight of form, quick of step, bright of eye and of 

smile, 
What secret is yours crafty time to beguile ? 
Good conscience, good hope, friends and memories 

dear 
From the total of age discount many a year ; 
May the days yet to come countless blessings unfold, 
And the spirit keep young though the body grows 

old. 



The Muse, on your birthday, a present would bring, 
Suggestive of youth, resurrection, and spring ; 
Expressing, in well-known symbolical way, 
The sentiment, " Many returns of the day." 
And so, with respectful obeisance, she begs 
You will kindly accept this small basket of eggs : 
They are fragile, and such is our tenure of life ; 
They are smooth, as the days purged of envy and 

strife ; 
Like their whiteness, the spirit for Paradise meet ; 
Like their roundness, the life rounded out and com- 
plete ; 
Like their freshness, the soul that outlives not its 

youth ; 
Like the strength they impart is the virtue of truth. 
In your honor to-day let the Muse at your shrine 
Present her oblation, an egg drowned in wine. 



BEHIND AND BEYOND. 

TO MY VENERABLE FRIEND, 

C. C, Esq.^ 

ON HIS NINETIETH BIRTHDAY, 

APRIL II, 1882. 

" Eor getting those things which are behind^ and 
reaching forth unto those things which are 
before." 

"Behind," all the road of my pilgrimage lies, 

Few and evil the days of its years ; 
From the hill-top of vision I cast back my eyes, 

But their sight is beclouded by tears. 
O God ! to the past and its errors be blind, 

Bid Thy servant rise free from his debt. 
Blot out all the sin and the sorrow " behind," 

Give the grace to look up and " forget." 

13 



" Before," all my hope and my blessedness wait, 

When, the staff and the burden laid down, 
The pilgrim shall find at the beautiful gate. 

The welcome, the harp, and the crown. 
There Jesus is entered, forever our Priest, 

There the loved who have passed on before ; 
O thou birthday of life, usher in the high feast. 

When the days of my waiting are o'er ! 



14 



TO REV. AND MRS. G. S. B. 

ON THEIR WOODEN WEDDING, 

MAY 30, 1882. 

( Written on a shingle^ 

Dear friends, who in cloudy and sunshiny weather 
Five times the earth's cycle have journeyed together, 
With hearts full of blessing, and hands full of no- 
tions, 
(Though our offerings are wooden, not so our emo- 
tions,) 
We come to do grace to this happy occasion. 
And wish you, a thousand times, congratulation. 

Of silver and gold we have little to mention. 

Five and forty years hence these may claim our 

attention ; 
To-night we have gifts that are plainer and cheaper: 
Instead of a carpet here 's only a sweeper ; 
Instead of a poem, these verses to jingle ; 
And in place of a house I have brought you a shin- 
gle. 

15 



Despise not the gift, though its form be erratic, 
The shingle perhaps will be found emblem-attic ; 
The verses convey, if with patience you scan 'em, 
Five hearty good wishes, — that 's one wish per an- 
num. 

When the rain pelts the roof or the heat makes you 

swelter, 
May you never lack covering, shadow, or shelter ; ^ 
The Lord your Defender, with glory excelling. 
No evil nor malady come nigh your dwelling ; ^ 
As the roof is but one though of many united, 
In thought be ye one as in troth ye are plighted ; ' 
As the shingle sheds rain, so, anxiety sparing, 
Be your care cast on Him Who for you still is 

caring ; * 
This panel once bound in a bundle unbroken. 
Of your souls in the bundle of Hfe be the token. ^ 

For Shelter, Home, Unity, Peace, Life eternal. 
With Love that is deathless, and Hope ever vernal. 
We wish you, with all other blessings in reason, 
In wishing you many returns of the season. 

^Isa. iv, 6. ^Ps. xci, 9, 10. ^Matt. xix, 6. *i Peter v, 7. 
' I Sam. XXV, 29. 



16 



THE OLD FAMIL V CRADLE. 

Laid in the garret where darkness and dust 
Are the sole warders of many a trust, 
Silently standing amid its compeers, 
Motley mementoes of many-score years. 
Shapeless and homely, a cast-aside thing. 
Thus the old family cradle I sing. 

Once with vermilion its coating was gay, 
Now all its brightness is faded away ; 
Worn is the paint from the sides and the head, 
There no soft coverlet longer is spread ; 
And its stiff rockers creak over the floor 
Like a rheumatic, limb-weary and sore. 

Yet there are thoughts full of goodness and grace. 
Brightening with beauty the homeliest face : — 
Speak to us now of the years that are fled ; 
Changed are the living and peaceful the dead ; 
What are thy memories, mournful and glad, 
Family histories, mirthful or sad ? 

17 



Once a young mother bent over thy side, 
Fair as a maiden and blessed as a bride ; 
There were warm kisses and tears of delight, 
And the kind angels looked pleased at the sight ; 
While the old cradle rocked gently away, 
Seeming in musical murmurs to say : 
" To and fro, to and fro, little one, sleep. 
Angels their watch o'er thy cradle shall keep ; 
To and fro, to and fro, thus as we rock 
Softly and solemnly ticketh the clock ; 
And the swift moments, while hurrying by, 
' Lullaby, lullaby,' sing as they fly." 

But the light moments bear years on their wing ; 
Summer and Autumn and Winter and Spring, 
Quickly succeeding, pass quickly away, 
And the young parents are care-worn and gray ; 
Children are gathered by table and fire, 
Blessing and honor to mother and sire. 

Still the old cradle rocks steadily there ; 
Still there are treasures to trust to its care ; 
He who its pillow in infancy pressed, 
Soothed by the song of a mother to rest. 
Now in his manhood stands proud at its side. 
Watching the sleeper with fatherly pride ; 
i8 



And the old cradle as lovingly still 
Guards like a casket its jewel from ill. 

Gone are the aged ones now to repose, 

Sleep which nor dreaming nor weariness knows ; 

Gone are the children who grew by their side 

Far from the home of their childhood and wide ; 

And the old cradle, forsaken, forlorn. 

To its long rest in the garret is borne. 

Yet not forever its usefulness o'er, 

In age it is summoned to service once more ; 

Another new-comer, bewildered, astray. 

Would sleep in thy bosom its troubles away ; 

But alas ! for the love that its sorrows would share, 

Alas ! for the ceaseless and weariless care, 

A guardian sterner is sought in thy room. 

And the sleep of the cradle exchanged for the tomb. 

Rest then, old friend, in a quiet profound, 
Stirred not nor startled by movement or sound ; 
Or if the wind with its deep mournful sigh 
Bring to thee memories long since gone by. 
Softly as one who may murmur in sleep. 
Rock in thy dreams and thy solitude keep. 



19 



NOT AS THOUGH I HAD ALREADY 
A TTAINEDr 

Not, my Soul, what thou hast done, 

But what thou art doing ; 
Not the course which thou hast run 

But which thou 'rt pursuing ; 
Not the prize ah-eady won, 

But that thou art wooing ; 

Thy progression, not thy rest, — 

Striving, not attaining, — 
Is the measure and the test 

Of thy hope remaining ; 
Not in gain thou 'rt half so blest, 

As in conscious gaining. 

If thou to the Past wilt go. 

Of experience learning. 
Faults and follies it can show, — 

Wisdom dearly earning ; 
But the path once trodden, know, 

Hath no more returning. 



Let not thy good hope depart ; 

Sit not down bewailing ; 
Rouse thy strength anew, brave heart, 

'Neath despair's assailing ! 
This will give thee fairer start, 

Knowledge of thy failing. 

Yet shall every rampant wrong 

In the dust be lying ; 
Soon thy foes, though proud and strong, 

In defeat be flying ; 
Then shall a triumphant song 

Take the place of sighing. 



21 



THE RIVER OF LIFE. 

Crystal river, whose waters are flowing 

Through the streets of the city of God, 
Golden fruits by thy margin are growing, 

Spreading health through that happy abode. 
There no toilers shall faint with pursuing, 

There no thirst and no weariness be ; 
For each dweller, his vigor renewing,' 

Tastes the fountain of freshness in thee. 
Sing of might to redeem and deliver ; 

Sing of healing and rest and release ; 
Murmur music, thou pure-flowing river. 

Making glad the sweet city of peace. 

From the groups of the loved and the saintly. 

As they linger thy borders along, 
Could we hear some dear voices, though faintly, 

Ours should join them in tremulous song. 



But we know that their days are advancing 

In a current unruffled as thine, 
Though we catch not the music entrancing, 

Nor unite in their raptures divine. 
Never more shall they tremble and shiver 

At the touch of the water so cold, 
For they drink of the life-giving river 

In the streets of the city of gold. 



23 



E. H. G. 

APRIL 23D, 1880. 

A fair little child, and as loving as fair, 

Free as field lilies from shadow of care, 

Fresh as May-blossoms, and glad as a bird. 

Sweet as the zephyrs that rose-blooms have stirred. 

Tended and shielded and fondly caressed, 

Lent, and reclaimed in the home of the blest. 

A poor little sufferer, scantily clad. 
Child without childhood, weary and sad, 
Patiently toiling in sickness and pain. 
Wonted to suffer, but not to complain ; 
Want is importunate, love blind at best. 
Death is more merciful — now she can rest. 

Met, in that land where all faces are white. 
All hands filled with treasures, all hearts with delight, 
Pity with patience, a wreath on each brow. 
Hallowed by suffering, glorified now. 
One the Good Shepherd — the pasture is one. 
One the safe shelter when roving is done. 
24 



Linked are the twain with a circle of gold, 
Drawn from the purse that I rev'rently hold ; 
She who her once hoarded treasure bestows, 
Smiles as its mission of mercy she knows ; 
They who shrank back from the grief-laden years. 
Come with rejoicing from sowing in tears. 



25 



THE TWO PICTURES. 

Side by side, where the sunbeams fall 
Fairly aslant on the brightened wall, 
Lighted with smiles in the morning's glow. 
Touched with half sadness when day is low, — 
Only child-faces, simple and twain, 
Silently soothing our restless pain ; 
Winning us ever from toils unblest, . 
Bathed in their spirit of perfect rest ; 
Comes not a breath through the hallowed air? 
Are not our guardian angels there ? 

One is a picture of golden hues. 
Fair as the morning and fresh as the dews ; 
The face is a grave and thoughtful girl's, 
Circled and shaded by clustered curls ; 
The blue in her clear and earnest eye 
Is caught from the cloudless summer sky ; 
Hue of the roses on lip and cheek, — 
Motionless lips that never will speak. 
Listen to Memory, then, as you gaze ; 
Call up afresh her words and her ways, 
26 



Questionings strange, and thoughtful replies, 
Earnest attention and mute surprise, 
Eager caresses and romping glee, 
Happy assurance of joys to be : 
And this is left us, alone, of all ! 
The silent picture upon the wall. 

The other is but a baby's face. 
Plain for beauty and simple for grace. 
Sober the tints and chastened the tone. 
Softened the radiance over it thrown ; 
Something unearthly tinging the whole. 
Little of matter and wealth of soul ; 
Delicate, silken, and auburn hair 
Tenderly parted and smoothed with care ; 
Light on the forehead so pure and high. 
Love in the gentle and dreamy eye. 
O measureless peace ! O calm serene ! 
What earthly shadows can intervene 
To dim the light of thine azure skies. 
To shut the vision from out thine eyes ! 
A light from the open door of heaven, 
As glimpses of bliss within are given ; 
A fixed, expectant, but patient gaze, 
Above distraction, beyond amaze ; 
An air of waiting in calm content 
27 



Until, the solemn curtain rent, 
The soaring spirit from prison freed 
Shall solve the puzzle it could not read. 
The poor, frail burden of precious clay 
Resumed in beauty and strength one day ; 
Will the shining one be half so dear 
As our gentle, patient baby here ? 

Thus as I look on the pictures twain 
I still me by thinking, not in vain 
Two souls came hither from yonder shore 
Then joined the immortals forevermore. 
Our earth-worn spirits were dull and hard. 
From high communings long self-debarred. 
The robes of heaven were trailed in dust. 
Love's fountains sealed by an icy crust ; 
But the dust in tears is washed away. 
The fountains melt in the warmth of day, 
In the spirit-land our names are known. 
And our hearts will reach to seek their own, 
And eyes that were dim can see the road 
Of needful sorrow that leads to God. 



28 



LENT, NOT LOST. 

All is not lost that 's passed beyond our keeping, 
Light is not gone though sight be dim with weep- 
ing ; 
Sweet voices still are sounds of love repeating, 
Though heavy ears scarce catch the tones retreat- 
ing. 

Wave after wave, in endless circles flowing. 
Breaks on the shore to which our barks are going ; 
Our parted treasures wafted there before us, 
To-morrow's dawn may safely all restore us. 

The gales of heaven, their odorous freshness bring- 
ing, 
With swifter speed our battered hulls are winging ; 
And clouds that hide the sun from our discerning. 
Quench not the distant beacon's steady burning. 

Brief is the space that from our loved divides us ; 
Thin is the mist that from their haven hides us ; 
Soft hands on high are beckoning signals holding : 
White arms wait patient for our hearts' enfolding. 
29 



There, where from sight our blessed ones have van- 
ished, 
There, where our Father dear recalls His banished, 
There lies the home that knoweth no removing ; 
There lives the love that never needeth proving. 

There dawns are pure, and purple lights unfading; 
On happy brows dull sorrow casts no shading ; 
There gentle souls of coming ills are fearless. 
And eyes once drooping, shining now, and tearless. 

There all, and always, dwell within His keeping, 
Who sleepless careth while our care is sleeping : 
How can we dare to falter in our praying. 
Their perfect bliss against our sorrow weighing ? 

Yet while we cease unwise and vain complaining. 
We have but loaned, — our title still retaining ; 
Love hath a lien that time nor death can sever, 
Our own are ours, forever and forever. 



30 



THE LORD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE. 

No splendor of the Cherubim 

Behind the pictured veil, 
No fire, descending, symbols Him 

For Whom all symbols fail ; 
Yet bended knees and shaded brows 
Befit the homage of His House. 

He comes not here in fleshly guise. 

The Babe of royal line, 
To bless the waiting Simeon's eyes, 

Or dim with rapture mine. 
Yet here I see His tender grace 
Diffuse a glory through the place. 

No more His accents sweet are heard 

In council with the wise. 
While wondering hearts are strangely stirred 

By questions and replies. 
Yet throbs the air with voiceless tones, 
Whose matchless charm my spirit owns. 

31 



He comes Whom sacred bards foretold, 

The world's supreme Desire, 
And sits to purify the gold 

As a refiner's fire. 
How shall my life that test sustain, 
And, purged from dross, what worth remain ? 

A solemn hush, a reverent pause, 

Be silent, earth and sea ! 
He Whose command your tumult awes 

Gives audience to me. 
The golden sceptre He extends, 
And ear to my petition lends. 

What words shall that petition frame ? 

How be my need confessed? 
I have but strength to breathe His Name — 

His pity reads the rest. 
His prayer be mine, who '' Mercy ! " cried. 
And left the Temple justified. 

Earth's glories fade ; its din recedes ; 
> Its idle strivings cease ; 
A nameless, restful, calm succeeds. 

The ecstasy of peace. 
No word of mine that calm should break, 
Thy servant waits ; my Master speak ! 

32 



THE TEACHER TO THE REFORMER. 

Ring, valiant strokes, on sturdy oaks. 

Whose lusty arms spread brave and strong ! 

To human wants, to skill and art, 
These forest acres, rich, belong, 

For lower needs long set apart. 

Crash, shell and ball, on fort and wall 
That fain the tide would turn or stay ! 

Old lies, old rubbish, and old crimes, 
Sweep, wave of progress, quite away, 

And smooth a path for better times ! 

On wide frontiers, bold pioneers. 

With axe and spade spend tireless toil ; 

On mountain slopes build iron ways 
For golden freight of countless spoil, 

The wealth and marvel of our days ! 

Sink deep the share, bring light and air 
To groping delvers 'neath the ground ! 

Let all the waste and worthless die. 
That thus a newer worth be found, 

A newer life to fructify. 
33 



'Mid servile chains, on battle-plains, 

In house of lords or senate-hall, 
Strong minds, firm wills, and ready hands 

Have wrought the wealth and weal of all, 
And won the praise of waiting lands. 

Wave, flashing sword ! speed, winged word ! 

Shape, active thought, resolve and plan ! 
Cry, herald's voice ! " Give Freedom place ! " 

Ye are but workers in the van. 
And millions more march on apace. 

Swell each the cry : "We occupy 
The fields that right and valor gain ; 

We sow the soil with golden seeds. 
While genial sun and gentle rain 

Shall nurture crops of manly deeds." 

O fierce debate ! O strife and hate ! 

Your needful task is almost done ; 
We work the after-work of peace, 

No less a great and needful one, 
Whose joy and labor never cease. 

We hail the word by kings abhorred. 

Free speech, free press, and manhood free ; 

34 



Be ours the daily care to teach 

That God's great gift of liberty 
Means not unlicensed deed or speech. 

Night shades, avaunt ! in every haunt 
Of darkness shall the dawn begin ; 

Ye who the host of freedom lead, 
We to your labors enter in, 

And by the truth make free indeed. 



35 



AMONG THE SPINDLES. 

With peaceful murmur, happy rills, 
Above your pei)bles glide along, 

A widening stream among the hills ; 

The deafening roar of iron mills 
Shall drown the treble of your song. 

Turn, belted wheels, with shaft and gear ; 

From first to last, from great to small, 
Each feels a restless impulse near, 
And dashes on its swift career ; 

One force, resistless, urging all. 

Tear, stubborn rolls, with cog and tooth. 

The tangled fibres, white and fair ; 
Cease not, in vain and idle ruth. 
Till every lock be straight and smooth, — 
'T were worse than pitiless to spare. 

Whirl, spindles, while the sunbeams glance 

Along your glistening lines of white ; 
With noisy hum retreat, advance, 
Making the music of your dance, 

And shrieking forth your wild delight. 
36 



Dart, busy shuttles, to and fro, 

While, as the slender threads unwind. 
Within, without, above, below. 
With giddy speed ye come and go. 
And leave a lengthening web behind. 

So glides the current of our life. 

With simple songs, through childish days ; 
Anon it breaks, with noisy strife. 
On wider scenes, with clamor rife, 

And finds its course through toilsome ways. 

Mysterious bond of influence ! felt 
Where reason yields to warm appeal, 

Where fashion leads, or passions melt ; 

Thine is the smooth, connecting belt 
That binds revolving wheel to wheel. 

When 'neath Affliction's ruthless grasp, 

Our anguished souls are rent and torn, — 
Thus as the hand of Faith we clasp. 
From grief, in nature's dying gasp, 
An angel, robed in white, is born. 

So let us mingle mirth with toil, 

As shining spindles whirl and play ; 

37 



To lively numbers wind the coil, 
Smile as we glean the snowy spoil, 
And crown with cheer an earnest day. 

Fly, subtle fancies, swiftly fly 

Across the sombre warp of care ; 
Your magic shuttle deftly ply, 
And weave a robe of brilliant dye, 
For ransomed nature's festive wear. 



38 



LINES FROM POEM DELIVERED BEFORE THE PHI 

BETA KAPPA SOCIETY AT YALE COLLEGE, 

JULY 20, 1870. 

Pleased at the summons, we turn 

From baffled endeavor and strife, 
Back to the hearth-stone, where burn 

The fires of our earlier life. 
Soft are the skies as of old, 

Smiling benignly above. 
Seeming the earth to enfold 

In embrace of the Father of love. 
Sweet are the breezes and pure 

That blow from the rock and the sea ; 
Peaceful the haunts that allure 

Thy sons, Foster-Mother, to thee. 
Stately the elms that o'erarch 

And fleck with their shadows the way 
Where gathering memories march 

In silent and solemn array. 
Firm as the arms they entwine 

In fellowship tender and strong, 

39 



Giving the mystical sign 

That all to one union belong ; 
Fond as the whispering speech 

The breezes have taught to the leaves, 
A message each murmurs to each 

And each with obeisance receives ; 
Fresh as the heads that they bend 

In beauty and vigor serene, 
So is the heart of a friend ; 

So are our memories green. 

Smooth are the cheek and the brow 

That centuries lightly caress, 
Never so handsome as now 

Was the Mother whose care we confess. 
Grander the mansion has grown 

With noble beneficence graced ; 
Proud with its carvings of stone. 

Rich with its symbols of taste. 
Glad through its chambers we roam, 

Finding in cloister and hall 
Still the old family home, 

And " Welcome" inscribed above all. 

Methinks, as in dreams, I have heard 
The Spirit that speaks in the breeze 

40 



Murmur an ominous word 

To the nymphs that abide in the trees ; 
And the shades of the past gathered round 

With the gods of the hearth-stone and fire, 
And the Termini gloomily frowned, 

And the Muses dropped garland and lyre : 
For rumor had whispered of change, 

Of merciless inroads of trade, 
A dwelling unwonted and strange. 

And the deities thither conveyed ; 
Of altars profaned and o'erthrown, 

Of traffic enshrined where they stood, 
Of groves that sank down with a groan, 

And clotted the earth with their blood ; 
Of pilgrims attempting to trace 

Some lingering vestige or sign 
That still m.ight distinguish the place 

Where life seemed the nearest divine ; 
Of ghosts that refused to be laid, 

Still haunting their early abode, 
Unquiet, perplexed, and dismayed. 

As one who has strayed from the road ; 
Of memories, purchased at cost 

Of struggles, of time, and of pain. 
Hopelessly perished and lost, 

And all begun over again. 

41 



Yet were the omens in vain ; 

The Muses still linger in peace, 
Crowning the things that remain 

With beauty, with strength, and increase. 
Still may we stray as of old 

Through these glorious gothic arcades, 
Still these calm cloisters behold 

The outer world never invades. 
Long be our fortune to meet 

The friends still to manhood endeared 
On the spot where we sat at their feet. 

And looked in their faces revered. 
Long undisturbed may ye last. 

Memories tender and true ; 
Peacefully, shades of the past. 

Smile on the old and the new. 



42 



LINES READ BEFORE THE ALUMNI OF THE SPRING- 
FIELD, MASS., HIGH SCHOOL 

The smiling years ! with garments white, 
And folded wings and beckoning hands, 
They pause where beauteous morning stands. 

And point through rainbow gates of light 
To gilded domes of fairy lands. 

The loitering years ! how lags their pace ! 

Those wondrous realms we yearn to find ; 
But nimbler feet have won the race, 

While we are toiling far behind. 

The changing years ! a darker hue 
Their trailing robes in sunlight show ; 

And we are changed, and some we knew 
In earlier prime, no more we know. 

The restless years ! we drink our fill 
Of change, yet deem our lot unblest ; 

Impatient years ! awhile be still 
And bid your tireless pinions rest. 

43 



The cruel years ! they hear no prayer, 
They will not for our pleading stay, 

But with relentless grasp they bear 
Our joys, our friends, our life away. 

The precious years ! of worth untold 

The pearls they shake from gleaming wings, 

And Wisdom coins to shining gold 
The dust that to their raiment clings. 

The gentle years ! they bear away 

Our treasures frail to safer care, 
And speed the dawning of that day 

When we shall find and claim them there. 

The gracious years ! for us is found 
Some solace for their giddy flight, 

When comes the happy season round 
We greet with song and cheer to-night. 

We meet to-night who met before, 

Clasped hands and pledged ourselves anew, 
Then sighed, " Perchance we meet no more," 

And said a kind, a sad adieu. 

44 



The hallowed place, the genial hour, 

The mem'ries thronging where we stand, 

Shall follow with their matchless power 
Each wanderer of our widening band. 

The silver threads that backward run 
To where divergent pathways meet. 

To-night we gather into one, 

And make the severed strand complete. 

The upper room, the master's seat, 
The face we love and reverence yet ; 

The learners gathered at his feet, 
The counsels they will ne'er forget ; 

The honeyed speech of classic page, 

The exhibition's gay parade, 
Mock eloquence and ''mimic stage," 

Before us all again displayed. 

The happy boys, the laughing girls, 
The easy tasks, the joyous play ! 

We drank the fabled draught of pearls, 
And life was all a holiday. 

45 



Our feet have trodden rougher ways, 
Our hands are stronger now than then, 

And many a sounding blow conveys 
The accolade that dubs us men. 

We pause upon the long frontiers 

That part the known and unknown lands, 

And question all the silent years 

What work yet waits for willing hands. 

O earnest hearts and eager feet ! 

Shall yours be naught but restless pain ? 
O eyes that strain the dawn to greet ! 

Shall patient watching be in vain ? 

We work in our appointed place, 
And He in us whate'er befall ; 

His is the gift and His the grace. 
And ours the joy and use of all. 

Clear eye, sure hand, and frequent blow 
Bring out the Master's grand design, 

Shape lofty themes from matters low. 
And rounded lives from yours and mine. 

46 



As broad the sower casts his grain, 

And leaves it to its fate, content. 
Through heat and cold, through drouth and rain, 

The bow of promise o'er it bent ; 

So falls the seed of worthy deed 

Beside all waters and all ways. 
Forgotten till the hour of need. 

But growing after many days. 

Not lost upon the pulsing air. 

Not wasted on the arid sands, 
The winds afar the song shall bear. 

And waft the seed to many lands. 



47 



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